


Twelve Years of Christmas or Twelve Distinct Reasons Why Manfred von Karma Strongly Dislikes Damon Gant

by ziskandra



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/pseuds/ziskandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gant pesters his good pal Freddo into volunteering at an orphanage one Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Years of Christmas or Twelve Distinct Reasons Why Manfred von Karma Strongly Dislikes Damon Gant

**Author's Note:**

> Written for mistytpednaem for gyakusai_swap 2011.

Truth be told, Manfred von Karma found everything about Damon Gant absolutely irritating. Every time the detective forced himself into Manfred’s presence, Manfred found himself reciting and amending his list – it was a mental list, of course, because he knew far better than to put anything like _this_ into writing.

Today’s version of the list currently contained ten items. They were:

 

  1. Gant’s hair stands so starkly upright he must be hit by lightning more frequently than the Empire State Building.
  2. The color of his suit has no business being in any item of clothing with the exception of _safety vests_. (Then again I would be unsurprised if any rogue truck drivers _did_ want to run him over. Given the proper circumstances, it would be pointless to prosecute. Reasonable precaution or not -- _it is an eyesore_ and unfashionable.)
  3. The clapping noises Gant make reminds me of my five-year-old daughter and her newfound love of leather. It’s childish and irritating, and not even remotely ~~cute~~ precocious when he does it.
  4. His _accent_. The only plausible explanation is that he was raised in a barnyard by wild geese – patient, _foolish_ geese. Again, I would be unsurprised if this was a deliberate manoeuvre on the part of his parents.
  5. He is incapable of calling me by my proper title, or even my proper _name_. He prefers to utilize the shortening ‘Freddo’, although I have never answered to such in my life, and nor do I intend to start.
  6. Gant insists on inviting me swimming, even though I have denied every request he has ever made since we began working together. He has, on occasion, threatened to push me in against my will. I in turn remind him that this is grounds for a charge of assault, and he has yet to follow through.
  7. He frequently plays the organ. He plays the organ terribly. I’ve trained dogs who were better musicians than he.
  8. Despite the fact that Gant usually stands at least several feet away at all times (apart from those ‘reassuring’ claps on the shoulder), his eyes are violating my personal space.
  9. His stare is unnatural.
  10. Most recently: he is under the delusion that I am operating some sort of charity, _and I am most certainly not._



Fortunately, Manfred was well-practiced in the art of not telling the truth, or at least the _total_ truth, when it contributed to his own personal gain – because as much as he hated to admit it, Gant was a social climber who might come in useful one day, and that was only the reason he _would_ begrudgingly admit. So, instead of regaling Gant with the entirety of this mental list’s contents, he focused on point number ten because it was the one that was causing him the most grievances at this current point in time.

“Absolutely not,” Manfred said, setting his pen down firmly atop his paperwork. If he treated this like any other matter he came across in day-to-day matters of his job, it would be over soon. The police ran about like chickens post-slaughter and the prosecutors? The prosecutors were the _chefs_. It was just a matter of firm, decisive action, and the detective needed to learn his place.

Damon Gant, for the better or the worse (usually worse) was not one to be quelled so easily. He readjusted his tie. He stared that discomforting stare. Manfred stared back, as much as he was able, giving the pen a little tap, because that should reiterate the point. The eye contact did not break, until it did – but Manfred, much to his chagrin, could not tell if it was before or after the other man had started chuckling. “Why not? Don’t be a spoil-sport, Freddo. The kids will love you.”

Another tap of the pen. “We’re busy here, Gant. There’s no time to be delivering gifts to anyone, let alone other people’s unwanted children.”

Manfred von Karma had not become renown as one of the best prosecutors of his era due to a lack of foresight, so he knew what was coming next. Gant started to clap that long, annoying clap of his; Manfred’s fingers twitched on his pen.

“Freddo,” Gant started, eyeing Manfred with an earnest sincerity that was actually so insincere it was disgusting, “you took in Edgeworth’s boy, didn’t you?”

Drily, Manfred gave his prepared answer, now beginning to push his papers aside. “There were mitigating circumstances.”

Gant cocked an eyebrow. “Indeed. Well! I’m sure you’ll find they apply here.” Innocent statement as it sounded, Manfred was beginning to have the very reasonable suspicion that Gant just how loaded his own words were.

He added an eleventh point to the list:

11\. _Gant knows too much._

All being thought and done, however, there was little he could do but go along with this cock-and-bull plan of Gant’s for the moment. While it was obviously clear that this manifestation of human irritation knew too much about Manfred von Karma, Manfred could not be certain about what he knew and to what extent. If there was something Manfred did not appreciate, it was _not knowing things_.

And that’s how a week later, the frustrated prosecutor took a break from his perfect three-minute courtroom victories and their respective three hours of associated paperwork to meet his _associate_ at a downtown orphanage. Gant, in his enthusiasm, had arrived early, and was already decked out in a Father Christmas costume. In Manfred’s opinion, the man looked ridiculous, but he begrudgingly accepted that it was easier on the eyes than the ‘safety vest orange’ (point number two again!).

“Freddo!” Gant shouted in exuberant greeting, “Glad you could make it!”

Manfred took several steps forwards, tapping his cane against the asphalt of the carpark. It was akin to the pen-tapping principle, just on a louder scale. He looked at the building, and then to Gant. “I didn’t know places like this still existed,” he said, voice dripping with disdain.

Gant chuckled, but not after a momentary stare. “They wouldn’t if there were more people like you in the world.”

It was an uneasy compliment, but instead of saying anything, Manfred simply let it slide. He had been doing a lot of that lately.

“Now, I see you didn’t bring a costume.”

Manfred’s hands tensed atop his cane. “Of course I didn’t.”

“It’s all right. I have a spare hat.”

There wasn’t much _all right_ about that statement, but he begrudgingly accepted the hat (but it stayed firmly away from his head), and steeled himself for a day of bringing about ‘happiness’, something that he was short of supply in himself. Honestly, like a starving man giving a stranger a sweater, the directors of the orphanage should have been suspicious. But on the other hand, they were upstanding members of the community, with years of experience in working law enforcement under their belts.

It was that history of character that had easily allowed him to take Miles Edgeworth in, after all.

As it turned out, most of these children were easily pleased, nothing like his own daughter with her hitting things and demands of _ponies_ and _fine clothing_. These children, at this orphanage, mostly wanted someone to sing to them, to hand them preposterous trinkets that they then treated as prized possessions. They were a bit like Edgeworth, in that way, satisfied with even the barest displays of approval. It must be something to do with having no parents.

However, that was not the only interesting revelation.

Detective Gant actually got along well with the children. Although they were the same age, Manfred knew that Gant hadn’t any children of his own, and while Manfred hardly cared about other people’s lifestyle choices, Gant just hadn’t seemed the _type_. The man, for all his annoying mannerisms, was now an enigma. One that Manfred was determined to solve.

There was a gentle tugging at the back of his hand, then his head -- a small child-like fist at his hair. Before he could bend down and subject the cause with his most disapproving glare, his field of vision was obscured by soft red material. The damned hat. With an unholy scowl, he wrenched the hat from his head by the pompom, throwing it at the little girl’s feet. The girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and he felt almost… _guilty_. What a ridiculous emotion!

But then the _screaming_ started, and any remaining vestiges of guilt were thoroughly evaporated. The noise attracted Gant’s attention, and he stopped midway through a jolly laugh to look over at Manfred. Was it Manfred’s imagination, or was the other man _enjoying_ the scene that Manfred had created?

… No, it was no feat of imagination. Gant most certainly was. The girl gave several last wibbles as Santa Gant came into view, and she ran away from Manfred towards the fake Father Christmas, to latch onto his leg and hide her face from Manfred.

_Good_ , Manfred thought vindictively, _children_ should be thoroughly terrified of me.

“Gentle, Freddo,” Gant said, after twirling his front forelock. “You’ve clearly given this poor young girl a scare.”

He wasn’t going to dispute that. That had been the point, especially considering the previous godawful commotion she’d been making. Maybe next time, she’d learn not to touch people without their express permission.

“I grow weary of this entertaining, Gant,” Manfred said, following his declaration with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m finished here.”

Gant eyed Manfred with curious regard. Curious as in both the expression on his face and the fact that Manfred had never seen as such before. Finally, he smiled, although for the first time it seemed strained. “Okay! So sorry you couldn’t stay longer, but it was _good_ of you to turn up today.” The little girl’s grip on Gant’s pants leg tightened.

With nothing more to add, Manfred shut his mouth into a tight grim line, turned on the spot and left immediately.

But not before making one more amendment to the current mental list:

12\. The detective is smarter than he seems. 

 

***

Thus begun a new tradition would be repeated every year, with the amount of tears being produced varying with each subsequent year. The final version of Manfred’s mental list has blown over one hundred loosely related items. Yet, he went along with it because it was not in the nature of a von Karma to simply _give up_ once a challenge had been accepted.

Ten years later, Manfred von Karma would be proven right when Gant finally made the ascension to district Chief of Police. But that wasn’t altogether surprising – Manfred von Karma was always right.

Twelve years later, from the comfort of his own prison cell, Manfred finally solved the remainder Gant enigma that had been nagging at him all along. All of his impressions had been correct, but now the final piece of the puzzle had dropped into place. With that came a great peaceful satisfaction.

Oh, how he _hated_ to leave things unresolved.


End file.
